This Modern Love
by Measured
Summary: Silly Modern AU, It's Fate Prequel. Past meets present as Soren finds out the finer aspects of enforced blind dates and carpentry by-proxy. Surely, his life isn't going to be the same again. Eventual Ike/Soren
1. To Be Lost In The Forest

Title: This Modern Love [1/?]

Series: FE 9/10 AU

Day/Theme: 8. and crazy is the forecast all week

Rating: PG-13, for now.

Summary: Silly Modern AU, It's Fate Prequel. Past meets present as Soren finds out the finer aspects of enforced blind dates and carpentry by-proxy. Surely, his life isn't going to be the same again. Eventual Ike/Soren

a/n: This was originally to be a collab between R amythest and I but it fit too well into another thing I was writing so I'll just have to send her another work to take a red pen to and hack away at.

This is a sideverse to It's Fate verse, though reading that isn't entirely necessary as this is a prequel. It should have about 5 chapters in all, give or take a bit. Like It's Fate!verse Soren is a bit more high strung here. Uh, it's AU and I'm going to justify that from his being raised by Almedha. You just do not go unscathed being reared by a crazywoman. It _seeps into your bones_ I tell you! Uh, Ammy was begging me for cute, so this is the cutest thing I had that didn't involve cat ears.

The title comes from an a Bloc Party song of the same name. a No, this isn't a songfic, yes there will be a mix at the end of this or possibly somewhat before.

I. To Be Lost In The Forest

Ike's apartment was cluttered at best, messy at its worst. Ranulf pushed aside a pile of dirty clothes with his foot. Mist obviously hadn't come in a while, as Ike couldn't be trusted to do his own laundry. His newly pink dress-shirts and black shirts frosted with lint were ample proof of that.

Ike already had a beer, ice cold, and handed one to Ranulf. He took it gratefully, even though he usually preferred sweet things. There was nothing like a nice Strawberry Daiquiri. Ranulf just couldn't be bothered with this manly rotgut, he liked something that didn't taste like drain cleaner (that produced a similar effect on his body)

Not that he ever really belonged in the manly category to begin with.

Ranulf waited for Ike to finish a few gulps before he sprung into his plan.

"So, I've got an _excellent idea_," Ranulf said, sounding entirely too much like a used car salesman.

"Mmn?" Ike was all too used to Ranulf's plans. He usually went along with some of the more sane ventures.

"Well, since the previous dates with Elincia, Lethe, Marcia, Aimee, and Mia didn't go anywhere, I thought we'd try something _different_."

Ike stared blankly at him.

"I've got just the person."

Ike continued to stare.

"Well?" Ranulf said.

"Ranulf, I don't know why you're obsessed with fixing me up, but I'm fine being single."

For many reasons, Ranulf thought. Skrimir was driving him crazy with the whole mancrush and even if he'd always had something of a clue about Ike's unstated preference, there was something irresistible about setting Ike up with chicks. The aftermath always proved to be amusing, for there was never a date Ike couldn't botch with his obliviousness. It provided great anecdotes to give at parties, and Ike was genial enough to let him keep doing it.

Last month Ranulf had gotten an angry phone call from one of his female acquaintances, none too happy at the fact that for such a handsome man, he was a bloody clueless lout who left he hanging when it came to the end of the night. There wasn't even a goodnight kiss, let alone anything more. But that amusement could only last so long and now Ranulf had another plan, one that Ike might even like in the end which would make it that much more amusing. When they were together and getting settled, Ranulf could stand up and say "I totally knew you were gay so I paired you up. Yep, I'm the one to thank for the happy couple."

Which brought another thing Ranulf was just dying to know. He sipped a bit of beer and waited for Ike to get a little more drunk before asking. He clapped Ike on the shoulder in a friendly manner. He'd be able to _tell_ if Ike was a cherry, right? He had a sixth sense to these things.

"Ike, have you even gone past first base?"

"I never really played baseball. I always preferred basketball and football," Ike said.

And that was all the answer Ranulf needed.

**.**

Soren glared. He pushed up his glasses, mostly used for reading, and stared Ranulf down.

"I'm returning this book of er, courtly love," Ranulf said with a slight chuckle, more nervous than actually humorous.

"Skrimir, again," Soren said. It was a statement, not a question.

Ranulf cringed.

"Yeah, his alright."

Which meant that soon there'd be serenading (which sounded more like cat calls to his sensitive ears) flowery language and attempts at knightly affairs. Lovely. The only satisfaction Soren could glean from the situation was that he knew that several of Ranulf's many admirers would surely have noticed the book, and thought it to be Ranulf's choice. Soon they'd be hoarding around him and expecting to be swept off their feet, quite a feat for some, considering that Kyza dwarfed Ranulf in size and muscle structure.

"It's late. By two weeks," Soren said.

Soren was at once irritated at the absence, and happy that misfortune of any kind had happened to Ranulf.

Ranulf gave his best _sorry, not my fault don't kill the messenger_ shrug and winning smile. Soren was neither swayed nor amused by this.

Soren put the book aside and put it into the database again. Oh, the fines. At least something good had come out of this.

While Soren typed out the receipts and checked through the account, Ranulf leaned on the desk and gave his most charming smile.

"So Soren, I've got–"

Soren was not charmed or swayed in the least.

"No," he said.

"C'mon, you haven't even heard the best part! See I've got–"

"No."

"Soren, you'll like this, just listen–" Ranulf pleaded.

"_No_," Soren said emphatically. He finally turned back to Ranulf to glare again. Ranulf had spent enough time with Soren to become pretty immune to these kind of killing glares. He saw them on a regular basis, after all.

Seeing this would take drastic measures, Ranulf stared Soren down, his charming smile now gone.

"Soren, I've got a video here and I swear to high heaven I _will_ up it to youtube if you don't go."

Soren blanched.. "...Video?"

"Yes, high quality. I'm sure you remember what of. I bet it'd hit front page popularity. I wouldn't be surprised if all of campus would enjoy seeing this."

Soren stepped back to survey the situation. Ranulf could be bluffing, he might be able to shrug off the video in question, claim libel or mistaken identity, even.

"Apparently you forgot. I'll just have to jog your memory."

Ranulf started belting an aria in his best Skrimir impression. He got very close to the timbre of Skrimir's deep voice, and perfectly captured the absurdity of the lyrics which the king had penned himself.

"This is a _library_," Soren hissed. He took a quick look around and found the room empty, it was late enough that his coworkers had gone home. At least that was one thing to be thankful for.

"Ok," Ranulf said. "I'll take it outside."

Soren let out a long sigh. He knew when he was outmatched, when it was time to fall back to superior forces, (or videos, in this case) and that time was now.

"...Fine," he said.

"What was that? I can't he~ar you?"

"I _said_ fine. I'll go with...whatever you have planned this time."

Ranulf smirked in triumph, and Soren glared at him, hating every single part of him, from his multi-colored eyes down to his so-uncool-they're-cool sandals. He hated that Ranulf had inserted himself into Soren's life for the only purpose to fill it with Skrimir and horrid songs and embarrassing displays. He hated that he was getting pulled into one of Ranulf's notorious tricks, yet again.

**.**

The place was overcrowded for a Monday night. There was the press of bodies and sound, too much action, too much noise. A baby cried from the other end and the child's parents attempted to soothe it, speaking is soft tones. The father looked apologetically from face to face, while the mother tried comforting it against her chest. The floors were a dingy gold color and a multicolored bead curtain separated the kitchen from the small eating area. It was what happened when a generic family restaurant closed and was bought by a pair of new age hippies who left some of decor and added flair where they wanted. There was assorted religious symbols placed about, with a yin-yang symbol, a wheel and various generic spirals. There was assorted maudlin quotes, all which were unbearably 'cheery' and 'perky'. Waitresses came in rainbow-hued loose skirts and bowed. They appropriated customs at will and poured it into some shapeless soup of feel-good concepts with none of the bite or responsibility of the various ways they'd sampled.

Soren crossed his arms and bent down low against the table,, as if to shut the rest of the world out. For all this space, the room felt oddly claustrophobic. His date was already fifteen minutes late, and the waiter hadn't even looked his way. His throat was dry, but there wasn't even ice water to quench it.

Muttering under his breath about how time would've been spent better at home (studying with some takeout) Soren clicked his fingernails against the table. The idea had obviously been Ranulf's as Soren wouldn't have set foot in this straight-out-of-a-chick-flick setting. He'd have thought of something stimulating, like staying home and ditching his date for another shift of work.

The clock clicked excruciatingly slow. A few more minutes and Soren thought he'd ditch this travesty altogether. He stared down the clock, daring it to go to the necessary five minutes so he could be free of this waste of time— When a voice broke through his thoughts.

"Got caught in traffic, sorry."

And, it was a guy.

Soren couldn't help but stare. Ranulf had set him up with a guy. Surely, somewhere far off, Ranulf was having a great laugh over this. Soren however, wasn't laughing. He wasn't even cracking a smile. He was giving his best _I hope you drop dead_ glare but the man seemed impervious to the evil eye. Admittedly, he was what was considered good looking, with his broad shoulders, dark blue hair, a chiseled, angular face. His body was firm and well toned. Definitely into sports, Soren thought.

He looked vaguely familiar, but Soren couldn't place where he'd last seen him. It was an odd feeling, a recognition like an itching beneath his skin, and yet Soren knew he'd never met this man before in his life. He'd have remembered, surely. There was something about him that prompted remembrance.

The man nodded at him.

"Hey."

"Hello," Soren said in his best ice queen voice.

"Hope you haven't been waiting long," his date said. He picked up the menu and begun to leaf through it.

"Not at all," Soren replied sardonically.

If he had caught it at all, Ike certainly didn't show it. In fact, he seemed completely oblivious to Soren's vitriolic reactions. Silence spread, it loomed out a as there was nothing but the murmurs from other tables and the sound of the occasional menu page turning. Soren felt the anger building. He had to get away, out of this place.

"Excuse me," Soren said abruptly. He pushed the chair away from the table so hard that the chair almost toppled over. He righted it, and moved out swiftly.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"...restroom," Soren said.

Soren made his way through the chairs and tables alike, dodging the patrons and didn't rest until he reached the hall leading to the restrooms, cutely arrayed in pink and blue plaques.

Soren seethed. How _dare_ that idiot Ranulf put him in this position? Soren. Didn't. Date. He hated the atmosphere and the whole act of dating itself. The vapid courtship rituals, all with the same end. He had no desire for children, or companionship for that matter. He had his books and his logic and that was enough for him. He was just fine alone.

Soren couldn't count the times he had shaken his head over the love affairs of co-workers and students alike, irritated at their sheer stupidity, willingly throwing themselves into the same hopeless situation time and time again. The institution was outdated. At times Soren wished it abolished altogether. It wasn't like the world needed a population growth. He figured he was doing it a favor by being a bitter cynical bastard for the rest of his life.

The back door was close. He could run away right now, go home and forget this night ever happened. It was unlikely he'd ever run into this man again, for they hardly shared the same crowd. Soren could go on with his life and simply pass off this night as a very cruel joke by someone who was going to have several mysterious fines on his record, or possibly have his card revoked altogether.

Soren looked back to the table. His date was half looking at the menu, every once in while checking back. Soren noticed so many new things about his date that he hadn't seen, from the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed to how he rolled his shoulders to stretch out a tense muscle. Even if Soren had been abrasive in his remarks, he had simply not noticed or shrugged it away. As much as he wanted to leave, Soren felt compelled to return. As much as he wanted to be unaffected, he knew that something about this had caught his curiosity. That unexplainable tingle of recognition had shaken his composure enough that Soren found himself taking one, two three steps before logic could call him on such a decision. By then, the man had caught sight of him and there was no running at that stage.

He made his way back, the door shutting then reverberating back before finally settling behind him. He irritated the same patrons he had managed to offend when he'd gone the first time. He gleaned some pleasure from making their days worse at least (usually he couldn't be bothered to even care about people, even to the point of hating them but when faced with this much irritation and people to deal with, Soren could be given to schadenfreude.). When he sat down, Ike momentarily moved aside he menu and their gazes met.

"Hey, you're back," his date said, with the hint of a smile. The smile reminded him of another time, of a face that was not Ike's but much younger and of a warmth he had clung to. And with that brief coalescence something in Soren _fluttered_.

Soren was mortified. Obviously Ranulf had given him some personality-swapping drug that made him suddenly gain the mannerisms of a fourteen-year-old girl. Because right now his palms were sweating, and was it just him or was it suddenly much too warm in here? Soren clung to his menu to hide his slightly flushed face. And Soren Did. Not. Blush. He didn't, and certainly not over some stupid _male_ date that Ranulf of all people set him up with.

Soren swore to himself that he'd strangle Ranulf in the morning. Being put through this kind of thing surely justified murder, he could claim it as a form of temporary insanity brought upon by Skrimir's voice. Hmm. Soren thought through the logistics of getting away with murder and it cheered him up some. His date scoured his menu again, seemingly entranced by the third page of the menu. ( _the entrees_. Soren figured ) He didn't look up until the waitress was upon him. Literally.

"Oh hello, heroboy."

The waitress was a tall, exotic woman with curly black hair that fell down her back in thick waves. Her shirt was surely altered to be more revealing and held a hint of the far East. She wove a sort of gypsy-chic new-age sari with fake antiqued gold coins tied into the stiching. She winked, and hovered close with the simple reason of ogling his date. Soren narrowed his eyes in annoyance at the girl, and Ike for seeming to humor her, even if he made no attempt at flirting back. It annoyed him, the sheer gall of the girl to flirt with i_his_/I date, though he thought, she must have assumed them merely friends.

And they weren't even technically that.

As she went to refill their glasses, she dipped low to show off his sizeable cleavage. Soren felt his mood shift from bad to worse.

His date ordered a salad, mozzarella breadsticks, spaghetti and meatballs and finally, the restaurant's special Rising Dragon Steak which had a clause that if you actually managed to eat the behemoth, it was free. It was called such for the sheer amount of spices used were said to cause the person to breath fire, or so the menu bragged. Soren settled on just the soup and salad. All these fluctuating emotions, anger, jealousy, shocked denial and even something like interest had gotten to his appetite, not that it was ever particularly robust to begin with.

Menu set aside, now came the part Soren detested most: making conversation.

He supposed he could leave the man in nothing but an awkward silence for the next approximate fifteen to twenty minutes and leave directly after, and indeed that was his original plan – but something in Ike's face made him pause. There was an honest trait to him, one that made him want to know something more about him. After postponing the moment by taking a gulp of water, His date saved him from having to start the conversation. (Which was a good thing, as Soren's topics at hand were the Heian era and economic boom of the industrial revolution, with assorted dissections of the collective themes of Proust and Balzac.)

"I'm Ike, by the way," he said.

It was a fitting name. Walking chiseled masses of muscle like this person just weren't named Leslie or Fabian.

"Soren," he replied.

"What?" Ike said.

"My name. It's Soren," he replied.

"Oh," Ike said. "I can't wait for the food to come. I'm starved. I had to skip lunch earlier."

Beside the fact that Ike had ordered half the menu and only stopped to save his wallet, Soren was somehow not surprised at this realization.

"Salad first? You seem like the type to prefer some kind of spicy red meat," he said wryly.

"I do, it's my favorite. How'd you know? Did Ranulf tell you?"

"...lucky guess, I suppose," Soren said. The odd knowledge scratched at his insides again. It had been more than merely a good guess, it had been intuition. Soren shook that thought aside. It was unreasonable, but then so had the whole night been thus far.

"What about you? You aren't one of those Vegan-offended-by-meat-types, are you?" Ike asked. He tilted his head slightly and frowned in concentration. In some deep dark hidden corner of his mind Soren found it endearing. Soren pushed that part down with another wave of rage.

"I have no particular fondness for food. It's merely nourishment," Soren said.

"So, what do you do?" Ike asked.

"Do? If you mean my current venue of study... I'm a history major. I work at the student library if you were referring to working status."

"I came in on a sports scholarship," Ike said. "I work over at Lowe's to pay the rent."

"It figures," Soren said.

And then their dinner arrived, so they were spared any more conversation.

Ike ate his salad in what seemed to be two bites and then started on his Rising Dragon.

Ike didn't just eat this meat, he _romanced it_. Soren thought bitterly that he should've dated the _meat dish_ and not himself. He probably would have given the choice.

Soren picked at his salad, his last traces of hunger leaving him. The salad wasn't fresh, it felt wilted and he had to force each bite down. As much as he disliked wasting food – and money, he couldn't force down another bite. The soup was worse, too creamy and far too oily. Soren reminded himself to never visit this restaurant again. Not that he had eaten in this kind of venue for the past fifteen years or more. Chinese Take-out during finals was the only kind of restaurant he'd ever indulged himself in, and that was only because without nourishment, he'd likely faint again.

Ike seemed unaffected by this bad cooking, thus Soren surmised that he either would eat anything that wasn't nailed down or that it was only his own food which was bad. He couldn't tell which.

When Ike finally finished his meal, he pushed the plate aside and sat back, filled with a satisfied contentment. There was still a trace of barbeque sauce on his chin, it gave Soren a mixed response, half annoyance and half the desire to clean it off.

Ike waved for the waitress who came eagerly, itoo/I early.

"Oh, your chin– Let me get it," she tittered and took a napkin and wiped it clean.

"Oh. Thanks," Ike said.

She gave a wink and took too long readying the check, chatting away the whole time. Soren stared sullen out ate this garish, facsimile of a place and hated everything about it – especially her.

She laid out the bill with perfect red tipped fingers and Ike paid before Soren could get his wallet out.

"I was going to pay my share," Soren said.

"Well, I'm the man. I always pay for the dinner," Ike said.

"Excuse me?" Soren said.

"Uh," Ike said, seeming to finally realize the connotations of what he'd said. " I just always pay. It's a thing."

Soren, however, annoyed as he was, didn't complain. He was saving money, money which could be used to pay off student loans or pay for actually edible food when he got home. He could stand being the 'woman' once in a while, but only if there was bad food involved.

**.**

The air had turned unseasonably cool by the time they left. Streaks of cars swept by, ribbon-like lines of white floating lights. While nature had fallen asleep, the city had just begun to rise. Outside the restaurant it was darker, less blinding. Several of the neon bulbs had gone out in the store across the street, and the light fixture above them was currently in the process of being replaced.

He couldn't see the stars from here. An orange glow clung to the night sky, lightening the darkness of the oncoming night. He'd once had an annoying classmate who found such colors entirely 'romantic'. He knew it by name, as it was the decidedly unromantic phenomenon of light pollution. It was turning autumn, the stars shifting unseen above. It had been a warm day and faded into something more compact until every breath would be held to its deepest core and cherished before being released. Soren had underestimated the earliness of the coming fall chill and shivered at the cold despite himself. He heard unzipping and inclined his head to see, mentally wondering if he shouldn't be _turning_ his head instead.

"Here," Ike said.

Soren blinked as he stared at the jacket. It was tannish in color and large and heavy A bit ripped at the sleeves, as if it'd see many years of work. Soren remembered from some dim corner of his mind that this type of jacket was called a 'Carhartt'.

"Go ahead."

Soren murmured a thanks as he attempted to fit it over his slender shoulders.

"Here, I'll help you," Ike said.

Soren froze as Ike slipped the coat over his shoulders,.it was heavy and he felt weighted down. Soren wondered how Ike managed, but then, it was _Ike_. It probably felt light to him.

"So, I guess this is it," Ike said, with something like a trace of wistfulness in his voice.

"I'm off. Goodnight."

"Wait, aren't you driving back?" Ike said.

Soren shook his head, well aware that Ike might not catch it in the low lighting. "I walked. I live by here."

"Come on, I'll drive you."

"There's no need," Soren said.

"It's late. You could get mugged," Ike said.

"I'm only fifteen minutes away, " Soren replied. "I walk this every night and I've yet to be mugged in the two years I've lived here."

But Ike was already unlocking his truck. (Typical that he'd have a beat up off-road vehicle.)

The seats were even more ragged than Ike's coat, and it obviously hadn't been cleaned since Ike got the thing, it may have even retained some of the earlier owner's garbage. That may have explained why it smelled of cigarettes when Ike didn't seem to be a smoker.

Ike eased the starter a moment and it made a wurring sound before finally starting. The rumbling of the motor was overpowering enough to prevent talk or worse, the use of the radio. Soren was glad for this, his mind was blank of things to say and the only music he'd ever been able to stand was classical. Given Ike's background and beat up truck, he might enjoy anything from Country to Rap to Hard Rock, and every of these options was sure to be rage inducing.

Soren muttered the directions, almost absently. Ike was able to translate those mumbled phrases, which was admirable. The car trip did not last, it took less than half the time it would have taken to hike on foot. When they reached the street Soren waited until he turned the behemoth to idle and opened the creaky door.

He pulled at the thick zipper, and it caught. He gave it a few sharp tugs, but it refused to budge.

"I'll be fine. You can give it to me another time."

With that, the door had been left slightly ajar. It would not simply go down as a strange whim of Ranulf's, but there would be an after. Soren thought about giving the zipper another try, but he let his hand fall to his side in acceptance of this.

"Alright," Soren said.

He walked around the beast of a car and up towards the stairs leading to his apartment building. It was small and was once another color but had faded to a brownish grey shade. The windows were high and he could see reflections of the streetlights and lamps on their surfaces.

He was still close enough and for some reason upon looking back he couldn't place, Soren looked back. Ike's window was open, he was seeing Soren safely back and watching to make sure he got into his apartment building well at the very least. And the realization came upon Soren that he didn't entirely hate this moment. It wasn't uncomfortable, in fact it was almost pleasant. He'd almost enjoyed himself this past few despite the awfulness that was the bright spot. The realization of this was like finding a thorn, or a bit of silvery glass stuck under one's skin. Soren was far too used to being miserable; he had no clue what to do with this contentment.

"Aren't you going to go back?" Ike said.

It was all so familiar, so mirrored that Soren felt a sense of unrealness. It came then, the clear cold stark angles of the memories he had so treasured when he was younger and set aside as useless in his adulthood.

_"Aren't you going to go back home? It's dark.... Mother always says that the dark brings out the monsters. I'd like to fight a monster sometime, wouldn't you? I could take you back to my house if your mother would let you. Mother is making pot roast tonight, it's delicious. You could come back with me..."_

"What..." Soren shook his head to clear it. The past was gone, over. He'd searched and come up with nothing.

Ike was looking at him, expectant, waiting for some reply. Soren had none to give except one.

"Goodnight," Soren said sharp and quick. He climbed the stairs and didn't look back.

**.**

Soren slept that night, though barely. He arrived at work and began settling into another angry routine. No one noticed this as being particularly different from any other day of the week. He was, if possible, even harder to work with. His coworkers gave him plenty of distance lest he explode, like mixing volatile chemicals, or the currents of warm and cold air in a storm.

Soren was still caught up in the memories of the date, how horrible and yet... enjoyable it had been. He denied the existence of The Flutter, attributing it to temporary insanity or some Ranulf-involved-drugged scheme. Or perhaps it had all been some vivid nightmare, or something hallucinogenic slipped into his coffee–

But Soren knew it was all true, because of the presence of the jacket. It mocked him when he left, with its irresistible scent of smoke and wood and Ike. It jeered at him with memories that shouldn't be as clear as they were. And like anger or any other upset, Soren worked through it. To him, working through something was the cure for every ill, to bury oneself into enough paperwork and filing jobs to set his mind on other things. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well be productive.

And he was often miserable.

Soren thought the world would be a lot better if all those besotted women would stop with their daydreaming and start with their _working_. Of course, this was only hypothesized. Soren had never loved, thus never gotten his heart broken. He could hardly speak on the subject but then he didn't care to become fluent in the ways of it anyways.

He worked through that night and another day before his phone buzzed with a number he recognized only from the records of the library themselves. Soren almost ignored it, but thought this a good chance to give him a piece of his mind.

"What?" Soren said upon lifting the slim black phone to his ear.

"Hey, you must've done something right – he asked for your phone number."

And with that all the insults fell back and he couldn't grasp them. He swallowed and replied, with far less vitriol than he had intended.

"...My phone number?"

"Yeah, he's never asked for that before with anyone else I set him up with."

Soren gripped the phone so tight that he thought it might splinter and burst in his hands. "There's been _others_?"

He heard a laugh on the other end. "Whoa, jealous after just the first date? You must've fallen hard for him, Soren. I didn't expect you to be the 'fall at first sight type'"

"I– _No_. It's not that at all," Soren said, knowing very well he wasn't sounding particularly convincing.

"_Uh-huuuuuuuh_."

Soren gritted his teeth and cleared his throat. "I don't appreciate being the last on the list, another piece of meat to be sold off _nor_ do I appreciate being set up with someone without my knowledge, let alone another guy. I'm sure you had a good laugh over this."

"You're right, I did have a great laugh. But you hit it off, so it's no sweat. Oh, and I've been setting him up for _years._ He's usually indifferent to them. You're the first one he's really reacted to."

The fluttering began again. Damn butterflies. Damn Ranulf. Damn it all to hell.

"It's nice to see the big lug finally getting a clue. All these years I've been pairing him up with attractive women when I should've been trying scrawny sharp-tonged androgynous men. It really makes one think you know?" Ranulf said.

"Excuse me?" Soren said

"Nothing, just some thoughts. So you're up for another date?"

Soren paused. Half his brain was in the _abso-fucking-lutely not_ crowd, the other half – the magical fourteen-year-old drugged by Ranulf side was saying yes. Emphatically. He opened his mouth to refuse but Ranulf cut in before he could begin the one word he had plenty of practice using.

"I'll take that as a yes," Ranulf said.

"I didn't–"

"I'll set the plans for you two lovebirds. Just leave it to me."

And with that, he hung up. Soren was left staring in disbelief and rage at the phone. He fumed at Ranulf, but mostly he fumed at the part of him wasn't opposed to seeing Ike again.

Soren was in tumult. Something akin to happiness, rage, attraction and faint remembrance and realization in one day had left him drained to almost nothing. It was a far cry from his usual assortment of constant shuffling irritation and apathy. He looked out the windows and set aside memories of different kinds and set himself back to the solace of menial work.

**.**

Characterization note: before anyone starts going THIS CHARACTERIZATION IS OFF!11 Trust me, this is a plot point as well as a sort of philosophy. The lingering of Soren's draw to Ike comes from the remnants of the first draft which had a reincarnation theme, a however it is kept for another DEEP DARK SECRET to come later or something. It was hinted at in the taking home part, which should definitely clue in pretty deep about the nature of this if not give it away entirely. Oops.

The second is probably my own philosophy. I sort of see Ike and Soren as soulmates in a sense of the word – even if they didn't have the same history there would be a sort of draw. Ike would still probably be immune to Soren's vitriol and they would both bond over dislike of the upper classes and coarseness or something. Sort of like Akira and Hikaru from Hikaru no Go – not in the rivalry aspect, but in the way they react in different ways to each other than they do to anyone else. Especially Akira who is usually on the quiet side who simply explodes around Hikaru.

Digression aside, what I'm saying is in my opinion there'd always be a faint trace of difference there with them, even if it was a late meeting with a more cynical Soren. It might not be immediate but I think Soren would learn to respect Ike soon enough and that respect turn into like.


	2. Absent Minded

Title: This Modern Love [2/?]  
Series: FE 9/10 AU  
Rating: PG-13, for now.  
Summary: Modern AU. Past meets present as Soren finds out the finer aspects of enforced blind dates and carpentry by-proxy. Surely, his life isn't going to be the same. Eventual Ike/Soren

a/n: #05 - Books - 30_ways / 31) so monochrome and so lukewarm | The Gauntlet.

Boffing, while a euphinism for sex is actually a term used for modern swordfighting – to quote one site 'Arts of Defence of Medieval Europe, especially the Sword. Other weapons are included such as the poleaxe, dagger, buckler and shield.'

II. Absent Minded.

Soren fumed his way through the next work week. He was, if possible, even harder to work with. His coworkers gave him plenty of distance lest he explode, like mixing volatile chemicals, or the currents of warm and cold air in a storm.

He was still caught up in the memories of the date, how horrible and yet... enjoyable it had been. Soren denied the existence of The Flutter, attributing it to temporary insanity or some Ranulf-involved-drugged scheme.

And like anger or any other upset, Soren worked through it. To him, working through something was the cure for every ill, to bury oneself into enough paperwork and filing jobs to set his mind on other things. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well be productive.

And he was often miserable.

Soren thought the world would be a lot better if all those besotted women would stop with their daydreaming and start with their working. Of course, this was only hypothesized. Soren had never loved, thus never gotten his heart broken. He preferred it this way. He'd suffered hardships as a child, a childhood that sounded so tragic as to be consigned to the realms of fiction. He never told that he had starved on the streets until he found a safe house. He never mentioned to coworkers what it was to be shuffled from foster home to foster home, to be unwanted and unloved by all in the world save for one small boy who had stayed with him all those warm days.

He didn't tell them anything.

He'd been too young to work though it then, turning numb and empty for years of his life.  
Soren didn't like to remember, dwelling was a waste of time and energy, but sometimes he memories surfaced, despite the barriers and walls erected before them.

**.**

The library had needed some renovations for some time, but leave it to their _wonderful_  
benefactors to ignore the most pressing of needs. For some time there had been like pulling teeth to get even the most rudimentary of funds. Their backers acted as if they were asking for money to go for a trip to Vegas complete with gambling, debauchery and a trip to the whorehouse instead of just asking for the damn room to be fixed.

Until now, that was. Soren had laid it out in the most stark and bitter of terms last meeting and had finally won the war. Carpenters were coming today – at least one, for the budget couldn't be bothered to hire any more than the least amount of anything. They also couldn't be bothered to give him decent coworkers either. That was what they got for letting Gatrie to the interviews. Gatrie chose on only quality: whether or not the person was female. All other qualities, including actually useful things were completely ignored. Truth be told, the whole reason for his own hiring might have been his androgynous looks and the loose-enough-to-be-questionable sweater he'd worn that day. And possibly that Gatrie had downed a few bottles of beer before the interview.

Soren looked at the large amount of books that needed to be shelved, as well as the third computer that had been troublesome for the past few months. The children's section would invariably have to be resorted as the first grade class had visited the day before and left it in shambles. Not to mention the carpenter was due to come today.

And there was Ike. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed about his chest. In most, this would have come off as a sign of extreme impatience, but Ike gave the aura of someone who was merely bored. His hair at odd angles, as if he'd rolled out of bed and to work, his wrinkled shirt gave the impression that he had just picked up the first thing off the floor.

Ike yawned, his eyes fluttering down, drowsy.

Soren set his tasks aside for the time being. He approached, wondering inwardly if this was some Ranulf included scheme, or if he'd forgotten anything. The lack of a bouquet obviously picked by someone else made the former less likely.

"Ike, what are you doing here?"

"Nnn."

Ike stirred from his stupor. He blinked, and rubbed at his eyes to clear them.

"Soren..Did you say something?

"I asked what you were doing here. Other than desperately needing coffee, that is."

"Oh. Yeah, I could do with a cup. As for why I'm here, it's because I got hired. I forgot to mention that I'm a part-time carpenter, didn't I?"

"It seems you did," Soren said.

"I thought at first it would be a different place, but it did turn out to be where you worked after all. Huh."

Soren was impassive. "So it is."

"It's good to see you again," Ike said.

Soren looked hard at him, to look for signs of artifice. He could catch a flatterer from a mile away, but Ike looked sincere. The last two people to say that had been his mother, and Skrimir. The first had been tinged with sarcasm, the second with infatuation. Ike's simply was.

Soren didn't respond, for he wasn't quite sure what he would say. Ike's bleary, half-awake state was... endearing. The Flutter was back again. Damn it.

Mia chose this choice time to actually be on time for once. Soren wasn't sure if he was relieved for this or not.

"Morning, Soren and – oooh, who is this? He's _dreamy_."

Soren was used to such a display. Mia was not choosy. She was in fact, the most flighty girl he'd ever come into contact with. She hadn't found 'the one' yet and wasn't beyond going through the whole city to look for him (or possibly her). She routinely chased after and had minor love affairs with patrons and workers alike. In fact, it seemed that Soren was the only one she _hadn't_ shown some form of interest in.

"Hey, are you by any chance a swordsman?" Mia said, a little too loudly.

"Mia, this is a _library_. You of all people should know the rule _by now_. Besides, Ike is here to work and wouldn't waste his time with such things." Soren hissed.

"How did you know?" Ike said.

"I can always tell a swordsman by how he holds things. Oooh, what do you do? Fencing? Kendo?"

"Boffing, actually. Freeform stuff."

"Oooh," Mia grinned. "You'll have to _Boff_ with me sometime."

"Sure. Can't this week, though. I'm taking Soren out."

"Good," she said, and went off with a pile of books that Soren couldn't lift if he tried.

"Well, she seems nice," Ike said.

Soren took another hard and long glance at Ike. Despite the exchange, he didn't seem like a guy coming back with a conquest. In truth, he seemed completely unaware that he was just hit on in the highest order and had practically accepted a date, with a promise of torrid things to be done in the back of a car.

Still, unaware or not, that didn't stop him from being huffy.

"I see _she'll_ be your next date. I hate to inform you that she's flighty and not your type at all," Soren said.

Soren stormed out..

Ike looked perplexed a second, but shrugged it off and went back to work.

**.**

Heather came in thirty minutes late. She straightened her hair which was just as mussed as Ike's, but not for the same reasons. She pulled out a compact and put on a layer of rosy pink lipstick. She smacked her lips and wiped off the lipstick at the corner of her mouth, and at her neck which was a decidedly different color.

"Sorry for being late, I saw something sweet at the bakery and I just _had_ to have her."

Mia laughed along, Soren frowned and Ike was too busy with his own task to care.

Heather was the Clark Kent of lesbian librarians. She always wore large obviously false glasses and an argyle sweater pulled over a white blouse. Should a cute girl come, she would bend down, whip off the glasses, the sweater and unbutton the blouse to let her revealing top show through. She was Super Lesbian and she had come to convert the women of the world. She had this theory that one kiss would convince any girl that women were far prettier, smarter and smelled better than men. Maybe it'd work like werewolves. If she did it enough she might be able to start her own commune (more commonly thought of as 'harem' in her mind)

Even if the girl was misguided enough to come in holding some iboy's/I hand that didn't stop Heather. She had to make the poor girl see the light after all, didn't she? The poor boy would glare as a suave, beautiful librarian attempted – and often succeeded to steal his girlfriend away.

On the news last night there'd been a whole section on the dreaded jewel thief. The thief had even made Dateline. Another week, another treasure that had been 'liberated' from a museum. Each Museum was notified with a typewritten note that taunted their security systems. They'd still yet to apprehend the culprit. This time it was the Cat's Eye, a giant emerald that had been a gift from Gallia to the local prestigious university. There was no trace of the thief (presumed male, of course. How insulting.)

Heather put away the three books she had been reading with a smile. Lockpicking Through The Ages, A History of Thieves and a book on Museums.

She put the glasses back on and Clark Kent was back. Who really would suspect a mere librarian? Especially an eccentric one.

**.**

At twelve, Soren and Mia took a short break. Heather never minded taking the front desk because _you never know when something cute might slip in!_

Mia usually took lunch fifteen minutes later, but it was obvious she was bursting with questions. Ike munched on a Reuben sandwich. Soren grimaced at the crumbs which were steadily spreading around him.

Mia leaned against the counter, seemingly casual. She took an appraising look at Ike's physique before she started with all those things she was just _dying_ to ask.

"So how do you two know each other?"

"We–" Ike began.

"–We're introduced by one of Ranulf's inane whims. And that was iall/I," Soren said.

"Ranulf's insane whims? Considering that you're not covered in whipped cream, shaving cream, shaved, in pigtails or with a new tattoo it must've been a blind date."

Soren's frown stayed in place, Ike's expression didn't change.

She sighed. "They're always taken or gay."

She brightened a little when she continued "Though, that does mean Heather owes me twenty bucks and massages for the rest of the month! I _knew_ you had a gay vibe but she kept claiming you were asexual, booksexual or secretly a girl. But I said 'Mia, one day some man is going to sweep Soren off his feet. And then you'll get your just rewards and be able to show her!"

That did explain why Heather had made such subtle flirty remarks towards him. Heather and Mia weren't far apart, in truth, which was probably why they'd become fast friends. He was also pretty sure they had a 'no-strings-attached' friends with benefits arrangement. Of course, Mia would hit on most anything alive lest they be 'the one true rival' while Heather would hit on anything female and breathing, and the occasional girly guy by mistake.

They were obviously made for each other.

Neither Mia or Heather were particularly good workers. They spent too much time filing their nails or fraternizing with the patrons. They kept their jobs for the same reason that they had been hired for. If he'd had a chance at being in charge, they'd be fired in a second.

Then again, if Soren had his way, he'd be the sole librarian.

Soren could file the work of ten men and yet did it all in the most sullen way possibly. He never did any chore with even the barest hint of a smile, not even when passing out fines to hapless readers. (Although he still seemed to enjoy it. Somehow)

**.**

Ike's presence seemed magnetic. Within days teenage girls began flocking to see Ike work. A few boys joined in too, though most were more secretive about it. Heather tried to sway the girls of legal age from such a silly pursuit. Mia wasn't beyond looking, even if she called Ike and Soren 'a pair of lovebirds', just like Ranulf.

(Soren wasn't that surprised when he found that Ranulf and Mia were friends, of sorts. Ranulf tended to make casual friends wherever he went.)

Soren kept himself working, and his attention averted. All of their idolization of Ike's abdoninal muscles (or shoulders, or calves or arms) did little to change his opinion of the general vapidity of teenage girls.

Today, it was the binding of a book that held his attention. He stared very determinedly, refusing to look up even when an audible gasp meant that some skin had been revealed somehow or another. His focus only broke away when Mia burst in, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Guys, guys – Ike just lifted a whole bookcase by himself _and it wasn't empty_. I think I just came," Mia said. She fanned herself.

Heather rolled her eyes and returned to browsing the latest edition of _Shape _magazine.  
When Ike walked past, he used his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face revealing those much-lauded abdominal muscles. Two pairs of eyes followed him, and Heather's was not among them.

**.**

Heather and Mia usually left early, but Soren never complained about that, considering that he was glad to see them go. Ike however, had stayed well beyond what time was allotted. He'd worked hard the entire time. Apparently, the stereotype of carpenters being shifty and lazy was just that. It certainly didn't apply to Ike.

Soren put the closed sign up early. He didn't want to deal with anymore fools this late in the day.

Ike still worked on. There was a nail stuck between his teeth as he hammered. Soren thought the women were idiotic in their adoration, but even a small part of him had to understand it. There was nothing spare about Ike, not a shred of fat, all muscle. He was broad and strong, like a model, and had a constantly rumpled look that instead of making him look slovenly just made him endearing.

These of course, were mere categorizations, done with no feeling, just like he'd categorized those books on filing the income tax return form.

"We're closing in five minutes," Soren informed him.

Ike wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"I'll finish up here," Ike said.

Soren returned to his work and shut down the computers for the night. The third computer puttered on like a car with a broken muffler. He'd definitely have to look at it over the weekend.

When the lights were dimmed, he went back. Ike was still working. He put in the last nail of the new bookcase and gathered up his tools. Ike walked up with an off-color faded by the sun toolbox with an edge of rust, so perfectly arranged as to look like some kind of decoration. Ike filed out in front of him, obviously tired, but standing just as tall. There was a story in there, somewhere. A mother's words, a father's instruction.

Soren didn't ask about it. It isn't any of his concern.

Soren locked the doors, and Ike waited at the curb, his keys in his hands. Soren nodded, curt. Short. When Ike still remained, Soren muttered _Goodnight._

Ike didn't budge. "You're driving home?"

"I take the bus. Cars are an unneeded expense," Soren replied coolly.

"I'll take you home," Ike said, without missing a beat.

Soren looked a long while. The first thought was to refuse him outright, but Soren was also a miser of epic proportions. A small battle was waged in his mind, the loss to Ranulf by accepting Ike's kindness or riding the bus with the same annoying people with the same annoying waste of money and creepy driver.

He still had Ike's coat.

Ike hadn't waited for Soren's internal battle. That rumbling, dirty beast of a beat up pickup was there. Ike opened the door and yelled above the noise.

"Jump in. I remember the way."

Soren's only response was climbing in and closing the door behind him.

**.**

Soren dreamed of hands reaching and catching and touching. They were connected to a small body with deep blue eyes and messy blue hair. He resembled a younger Ike, especially the smile. It was entirely coincidental, Soren thought. He had long ago accepted that the search would be fruitless. He'd searched for ten years, through computer systems and photographs and news clippings. He'd searched when he could barely reach the tables that the books were to be spread upon. He'd searched when he could barely grasp the world for being anything but a very cruel and cold thing.

Soren brewed a pot of black coffee and started on his first cup. He hadn't had that dream in a while, he had almost forgotten the kindness. It was pathetic to cling to one sole memory of kindness. Humans weren't kind by nature, that image had given him a fragment of hope for a race that didn't deserve it.

He hadn't even known the boy who picked him up from the dirt the first time. By Soren's young, limited view, the boy could have been a heavenly creature, a ghost. Sometimes in his older years Soren thought the boy was a hallucination of his subconscious, that he was so starved for love that he created an ideal that didn't exist.

But Soren remembered that summer, that lasted until the boy left and the scars left from that fall, the scars that the boy had poured too much peroxide on and had stung. He tied headband

He'd wanted to be Rambo, or some football player.

Soren had followed this boy, mute and silent all through the days of that summer. He'd been lead by the hand to a world he could barely imagine – a warm one, filled with happiness and kindness.

Obviously a subconscious particle of himself had made a connection and hadn't entirely turned Ike away based upon it. He was similar, and thus a part of him was attached to Ike. What a foolish reason, what a foolish hope.

It was going to be a long night.


	3. More Discerning

Title: This Modern Love [3/?]  
Day/Theme: 11/11. soon a downpour will be coming  
Series: FE 9/10 AU  
Rating: PG-13, for now.  
Summary: Modern AU. Past meets present as Soren finds out the finer aspects of enforced blind dates and carpentry by-proxy. Surely, his life isn't going to be the same. Eventual Ike/Soren  
Author's note: 2. love-soaked, rain-soaked for the Gauntlet challenge. Happy (a little early) birthday, Reo! (Where arrrre you?)

Wow, way to amp up the silliness.

III. More Discerning

**.  
**  
It had grown heavy the night before, clouds dark and brimming over. Long before morning the deluge began. Soren of course, packed a raincoat and umbrella for good measure. He never particularly cared if the coat made him look like he was smuggling potatoes under his coat, he never particularly cared about his looks to begin with. And he never went anywhere without a backup plan.

Ike, apparently, didn't follow such a mantra. He was drenched. His shirt clung to him, framing every muscle on his chest in a dark blue outline. His hair was plastered to his face.

"How long have you been waiting here?" Soren said.

"Not long. Only about ten minutes or so," Ike replied.

"Why didn't you go to and awning? Or bring a umbrella?"

"I didn't catch the weather, and thought it'd be sunny. It doesn't matter really, it's not that cold."

It came, an epiphany, a realization of just of far The Flutter had gone. He wanted to lick the rainwater off of Ike's neck. He wanted to peel off Ike's shirt and help him into something warmer – like say, his bed.

It had been bad enough to have those Flutterings, but to find out that he was not merely attracted to Ike's charm but his body as well? After all his teenage years of rolling his eyes at the lustful antics of his students only to have his awakening now? This was bad news.

"You should go get changed, you'll not get any work done like that," Soren said.

And neither would anyone else. With the exception of Heather, who would be completely unaffected, and possibly scornful.

He looked away from Ike, unlocked the door and stepped in without looking back.

"You'll catch a cold if you keep getting wet like this," Soren said, softer, and less harsh than his usual fare.

"I don't get sick. Never have, probably never will."

"Do you have any spares hanging around? You seem like the type of guy to always keep a  
a spare or two around."

"Only in my size. I don't think you'd fit in them."

Ike was not the sort of guy to fit into men's medium (and in truth, Soren true size was boys medium – but even if he didn't have a complex about his height or lack thereof, he still wore the slighty-too-large medium from the instruction that certain memories of bullying gave him.)

"Here, take this," Soren said. He placed the umbrella in Ike's hands."

"'It's dangerous to go alone'?" Ike said wryly.

"What?" Soren said.

"Never mind," Ike replied.

"You'll be here alone if I leave, though," Ike said. He seemed to drift off in thoughtfulness for a minute, a rare sight indeed for him.

"I've never heard of anyone robbing a library, nor of anyone taking librarians hostage," Soren said dryly

"But you come here just to pull some early hours here every day?"

"If I don't then no one will. You've seen what my coworkers are like."

"Come with me," Ike said. It wasn't a question precisely, yet not an order. It was more an open ended offer.

"To shop for clothes with you...?" Soren said.

"I'll buy you breakfast for your trouble," Ike said.

Soren took one last look at the pile of books to be checked in from the drop box. He couldn't remember a working day that didn't start with this exact routine. He looked back to Ike, who leaned there with a sort of self-assured charm. Ike wasn't arrogant, he simply knew his limits and acted as such.

"Don't take too long. I'm the only one with keys."

"Funny, I thought you'd _want_ to leave your coworkers in the rain," Ike said.

"Whatever pleasure I'd derive from them getting their just desserts for being late would be lost when they take the whole week off due to sickness – feigned or otherwise."

**.**

Ike didn't take too long shopping. He picked out a shirt and a pair of jeans, each blue and moderately priced and changed into them in the bathroom after the ink anti-theft tags were cut. He didn't look too different from when he had started, though his shirt didn't cling to his chest as the soaked one had. Soren breathed a sigh of relief for that one small mercy.

"So, breakfast. Any preferences on where to go?"

"No particularly. I rarely eat breakfast," Soren replied.

Soren never ate out on breaks. He didn't like salty, greasy food. He packed cold rice and vegetables, with only occasional differences. Food was food; the only necessity was that it was nourishing enough to keep him from fainting in class. His breakfast was always eaten at home and consisted of something sparing – an apple, palm full of almonds, and more often than not wasn't eaten at all. Soren never felt very hungry in the mornings.

"Hmm, ok, I'll choose then."

He swung in a coffee & donuts place, with something about Dunking spelled incorrectly as to be cutesy.

"I've seen you drinking coffee before, is there any I should order in particular?"

"I've no preference," Soren said.

"Black it is."

One black coffee, one Latte with a chocolate donut. Ike didn't linger after he paid. Instead of driving back, Soren was surprised to find Ike turning next into a greasy burger joint that also did mornings. It was some major chain, though Soren could never be bothered to tell them apart.

"Are you sure you aren't hungry? It's a long time to lunch."

"Only four hours or so," Soren said.

Ike seemed to reel at the thought of four whole hours without food. More than just surprising, it seemed offensive to his sensibilities.

There was nothing appealing on the menu. It was all fattening, greasy, artery clogging things.

"Really, nothing?"

"Positive."

"Last call – you sure there's nothing at all?" Ike said.

Soren sighed. Anyone else he would've snapped at, but he was finding that Ike could test his nerves and he would still be found favorable. Apparently, Ike thought it some kind of sin to not eat breakfast. This wasn't surprising considering how Ike ate.

"I suppose I'll eat some of yours..." Soren grumbled.

"Ok, I'll order an extra ham and bacon eggburger. Also–"

Ike had ordered three of the breakfast burgers as well as hashbrowns. Of course that resulted in him poking a hashbrown as one might a wild starving animal. To be fair, his mother was always complaining that he needed some meat on his bones. Now it looked like Ike would be joining her – a truly horrifying thought worthy of his worst nightmare.

Soren plucked an egg out from its bun and meat blanket. It was oily, as expected. He wiped at it with his napkin until it was reasonably clean . He then brought it to his lips delicately and nibbled at the edges.

Ike nodded his approval and returned to eating, but making sure to periodically take glances at Soren – as if by not eating breakfast, Soren had admitted to a dire eating disorder.

He ate half of the egg before succumbing to Ike's hashbrown pokings. When the had finished the lone hashbrown, he pushed the rest aside and set to methodically wiping away the persistent grease.

"Are you going to eat the rest of that?" Ike said.

"I'm full," Soren replied.

Ike added it to the rest of his leaning pile of food. After a remark, he couldn't help but remark on the subject.

"It seems impossible...though you are on the small side, so I guess that explains it."

"Thank you for informing me of my stature. I was entirely unaware of it until you pointed it out to me. Is there anything else you'd like to inform me of? Such as that I am unpleasant to be with or that hair is black?"

"It's also long, and with hints of green in it. If I see anything, I'll let you know."

Soren was a wee bit surprised to find out the Ike had a sense of snark.. He hadn't expected a biting comment back. However, in the end the comment was more playful than biting. Ike smiled, more a half smile than a full out grin, and Soren gave his own wan, almost-smile back. He had underestimated Ike. He would not do so again.

"Fine then. I'll await whatever astute comments you bring up and listen to them in an unbiased manner."

"Good. I'll keep offering them."

**.**

Soren had insisted that they stop by Ike's apartment, which wasn't that far from here and pick up some form of coat. Ike chose a navy trench coat, which Soren had a feeling he'd promptly forget at the library later.

(The original conversation went something like this: "You don't like sharing an umbrella with me?"

"You'll get your new clothes wet if it goes on all day."

"So you don't mind?"

"...Not particularly."

Soren considered it a lost battle – Ike was steadily winning these battles, it was troubling.)

When they reached the library, Ike shrugged out of his coat while Soren balanced the umbrella on its side to dry off, and took off his own raincoat.

"I'll reimburse you for breakfast, just give me the receipt and I'll deduct my portion and have it to you by the end of the day," Soren said.

"No, it's my treat. Don't you do that with your friends? Go out to eat and stuff?"

"No," Soren replied.

_I don't have any friends_, Soren thought. But it wasn't merely that. Soren wasn't moping about, lonely and secretly wanting to get close to the people he insulted. He just wanted one person to be close. Just one.

No one else ever came close.

What kind of life was this, constantly holding onto only the longing of one person who had probably forgotten him long ago and moved on to another life? His lot, that's what it was. Soren was cynical about himself to know that he wasn't going to get any less clingy, desperate or obsessive soon, so the best he could do was to shove it back and focus on work.

Still, a slight disturbance needled him, the thought that he was merely one of many. Before Ike went to his work, Soren asked the one little detail which had disturbed him.

"Do you do this with all your...friends?"

"Nah, Boyd and Ranulf would never stop leeching on me if I did. Tibarn doesn't need any money, he's a whole lot richer than I am."

"I see," Soren said.

Mia and Heather were inside and dry when they returned. With them was Ranulf, leaning in close to share a joke with Mia.

"Heather already had it opened. She said there was another key."

Soren was quite sure he had the only viable of the keys. In fact, he was positive. After Gatrie's friend Shinon had filled the library with empty bottles and vomit from one wild drunken binge, Soren and the janitor held the only copies, and both Mia and Heather tended to avoid the janitor who had a habit of talking to himself in third person and seemed to have two separate personalities.

"Ooh, another date?" Mia said.

"As friends," Soren said.

"Mmmmhmm. Did he pay?" Ranulf interjected.

"...as a friendly gesture." Soren admitted.

"Soren, the only kind of friend he wants you to be is his _special friend_," Ranulf said.

"...Was there a reason you're even here?"

"To torment you. Also, I'm here on business," Ranulf said.

The door slammed and he heard a booming voice. Ranulf seemed to shrink a little, his smile turned stiff.

"Little librarian!"

Mia looked from Skrimir to Ike and back to Soren again.

"A challenger appears! We could make them fight mortal combat for your love! With _swords_ even!" She seemed particularly enthused about the idea of two muscled men fighting, possibly shirtless with long sharp objects.

Heather sniffed indignantly, as if the only way that mental picture could be even somewhat compelling was if it was two bikini clad women wrestling in a vat of lime jello.

"There's not going to be any fighting," Soren said. "There's no _ competition_."

"Little librarian? Then you do care for me!" Skrimir cried.

"No," Soren said. Skrimir sunk piteously under Soren's glare.

"Mortal combat! Mortal combat! _Finish him!_" Mia chanted.

"...Yeah. I'm going to get to work now," Ike said.

"Good idea," Soren said, and did likewise.

"Awww," Mia looked disappointed at the lack of a mid-library shirtless men wrestling fest.

"If it is any consolation, I'd be glad to be the prize of your testosterone-fueled violence!" Mia said.

This, however, did not entirely lessen Skrimir's Sorrow And Despair, despite the fact that he was quite flattered.


	4. Eat Up My Sadness

Title: This Modern Love [4/5]  
Day/Theme: 4. 18 - Already there was something mysterious and homelike  
Series: FE 9/10 AU  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Modern AU. Past meets present as Soren finds out the finer aspects of enforced blind dates and carpentry by-proxy. Surely, his life isn't going to be the same. Eventual Ike/Soren  
Author's note: a late GENERAL WINTER AND/OR SPRING present for Clow Angel. She prompted me with catapult and something else which I forget... It's horribly late, egh. Stuff came up and stuff. You know.

Only one more after this, and I've got a good amount of it done already. I hope to have it done by the 30th or earlier. Took long enough, eh? Anyways, no need to feel sad, because this isn't the end of the 'verse. I have a Heather/Nephenee sidestory planned, and follow ups to It's Fate partially written up as well.

And of course, there's other projects I'm working on, even if I'm not quite as active in FE fandom as I once was. So, look out for me!

IV. Eat Up My Sadness

** .**

The days went on as unspectacular as ever. Soren still counted them with a growing unease that tore at him. There were two distinct paths in his train of thought, and they were very divided. One was relieved that with each day, Ike would be that much closer to leaving his life and it could go back to the same flatline it had always been. The other side was uneasy that Ike would no longer be there, and that it would be returning to the same old flatline that had always been.

Something inside him was warm, unfamiliar and growing. It made him uneasy, and yet it was so intoxicating, so hypnotic, that it was hard to simply draw away. He looked forward to the little conversations, the laughs, the minutia. Even as he knew this was a doomed course, something within him was opening, almost without his consent.

It was as lunch approached, when the library was nearly empty that Ike approached him and leaned on the desk between them. There was sawdust in his hair, and it was getting all over, but Soren was only marginally irritated, if that.

"Want to come with me this weekend? The Renn Faire is on. You probably know what that is."

"Yes, I know. What, would you want us to dress up as a pair of fools?" Soren said.

"Scholar and Knight, maybe," Ike said.

"Like swearing fealty to lovely ladies ?" Soren said sardonically.

"I dated a lady once. I could never tell the difference between all the spoons and I kept breaking the china. That was years ago, anyways. She's dating some knighted guy now. I hear they're engaged."

Soren didn't know who she was but he already hated her. He hated her for merely existing, he hated her for possibly catching Ike's attention once even if it was a long time ago. He was not appreciative of this sudden, irrational hate. It made him want to beat his head against the wall until he could knock the sense back into it. That seemed his default condition as of late.

"It's not every day you get to try Mead, and then there's some of the best drumsticks I've ever tasted there," Ike said.

"Mead, you say? What a bargain." Soren said.

"That's what I said."

"I'll check my schedule and notify you," Soren replied. He already had his schedule for the weekend memorized. It consisted of 'read Mallory" and 'catch up on sleep'.

"Oh, you need my number, right?"

"I suppose. Though I could probably reach you through the contracting services," Soren said stiffly. Or check online. Not that he had, because that would be the actions of a stalker, and imply that The Flutter was winning. Alright, fine. He'd only done one measly background check. And he did that for most any worker, merely to prevent finding himself alone after hours with a serial killer and/or rapist. Of course, those checks had been done with disinterest and cynicism, while this one was constantly being interrupted by The Flutter but...that was beside the point.

Soren held the paper and studied it. He had an affinity for numbers. By the end of the day, he could, if he wanted, have that number committed to memory.

The wisest course of action would be to lose Ike's number after informing him that he would be busy that weekend, and every weekend after that, should he pursue any further invitations. Soren knew, with a sinking feeling, that it would not only happen this way, but this was a date. Not a prank played by Ranulf, not a friendly shared breakfast by temporary coworkers. A _date_. He also knew that he'd have Ike's number memorized in record time. Possibly by the end of the hour.

"Excuse me, I have to beat my head against a wall," Soren said.

Ike looked perplexed. "...What?"

"...Metaphorically speaking," Soren replied. "There are a large amount of things to be done...it feels like one is beating their head against a wall. Metaphorically."

"Ah," Ike said.

"Right. I'll be going now," Soren said. He left as swiftly as one could without losing composure and threw himself into his work to escape the _awkwardness_ of it all.

**.**

Soren wasn't about to dress up in anything poofy, or heavy. He located the garb most easily gotten in a short amount of time, which was that of a circa 14th century tactician, though it resembled the monk's garb of the 12th century, as most tacticians were cloaked in green. The crowd was larger than Soren expected, which made him feel perhaps a smidgeon less a complete idiot for dressing up in period costume. At least his was accurate, or at least, as accurate as was possible on such short notice. In the crowds there was someone dressed as a very gay pirate. Soren was not sure if the person had merely picked a very bad ensemble from the nearest costume shop, or actually intended to look like a very historically inaccurate gay pirate. Complete with sparkles, and flames. And eyeliner.

He caught sight of Ike, who stood out in the crowd for being actually fairly accurate of a circa 12th century Crimean mercenary.

"What are you supposed to be?" Ike asked.

"A scholar and tactician," Soren replied. "Strictly non-combat."

"Ranulf bet that you'd go as 'my damsel' He owes me ten bucks now. I've got enough money for the next tank of gas, then."

More like the next three gallons, if that, Soren thought.

"How quaint," Soren replied.

"Then again, if you aren't fighting... I'd still be protecting you," Ike grinned.

"I'm hardly helpless. I'll have you know that I'm the one leading your troops. Tick me off, and I might just lead the rest of your men into an ambush and defect to the other side," Soren said.

"Whoa, where's your honor?" Ike said.

"Mercenaries aren't known for their honor. Their only rule was that of coinage. Any fictional portrayals are about as inaccurate as the rather flamboyant pirate over there," Soren motioned to the gay pirate. He was hitting on a very confused swashbuckler.

"Huh. I'm pretty sure he hangs with Ranulf."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Soren said.

"Anyways, we should get moving. If we don't hurry, we'll miss the Bawdy maids and the Jousting."

God forbid they missed that. But Soren allowed himself to be lead away, with Ike parting the crowd and Soren practically clinging to his coattails. When they arrived, it was at a wooden stage with robust women in mostly accurate 13th century washerwomen's garb, though he was rather certain that the neckline was lower than would have been commonly done in that day outside of brothels. But soon, a crowd filled in, and he was stuck looking at everyone's backs. Even attempts on tiptoe didn't offer much more than a glimpse.

"What do you think?" Ike asked.

"All I can see is the inaccurate rendering of the back of that woman's dress," Soren said.

"Too small, huh?"

Soren glowered. Without warning, Ike lifted him up. His tactician's robes fluttered as he was hoisted on Ike's shoulders.

"That better?"

"That depends on whether you drop me or not," he said.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

Soren clung a bit closer, far too aware of Ike's shoulders, his body and the sheer raw power of him. It was hard to focus on the bawdy washerwoman's risque plight with Ike so near. When it ended, Soren couldn't have told one joke from the show, but he could have gotten close to describing the combination of scents of Ike (leather and sweat; vinegar and woodsmoke; and some form of cologne he couldn't identify).

Ike set him down, and Soren felt a bit disappointed. He had liked being up there, enjoying the benefits of the tall. It was nice to have someone looking up to meet his gaze, instead of the other way around for once.

"I'm starved, we should go get something before they get picked clean," Ike said.

"God forbid they run out of Mead," Soren replied.

"Hear, hear," Ike said.

"And Ike...." Soren said, just before Ike was to leave. He held to Ike's sleeves.

"Hnn?" Ike turned.

"Have fun storming the castle," Soren said.

IMDB did come in handy, even if he never did watch movies.

"I didn't know you'd seen it? It's my favorite," Ike said.

"Never seen it. It seemed appropriate, however," Soren said. It'd come as an accident while researching, though a fortuitous one that even made him crack a smile. And not many things made Soren smile.

"We'll have to fix that sometime," Ike replied.

The day wasn't even over, and Ike was already planning the next...outing. Soren refused to refer to them as _dates_, having sunk back into denial after his earlier realization, if only solely because if he did, then he'd have to admit that there'd been more than one forced one and that he was enjoying himself on these encounters. Anymore and Ike would be nearing official boyfriend status simply by default. And Soren wasn't going there. So he drew his attention to the nearest thing around. Which happened to be a life-sized catapult. He stared at it like the device was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

When Ike returned, he had a large drumstick which he was digging into with gusto.

"I didn't know what you wanted, so I got a little of everything," Ike said.

In his other arm was a biodegradable paper bag that was thin, and waxy in texture, which was handy, but most certainly inaccurate. Inside, there was a smaller drumstick, a pastry of some kind made of thicker flour than most, as well as some fruit, among other foods. When he said that he had gotten a little of everything, it wasn't an exaggeration.

"Thank you...though there's no way I can eat all of this," Soren said.

"Trust me, it won't go to waste," Ike said between bites.

Oh, of course.

"Nice workmanship, eh?" Ike said, nodding towards the catapult.

"Do they fire it? Perhaps a mock battle?" Soren asked.

"I don't think so. It's a shame," Ike replied.

"Yes," Soren said. He let the subject drop as they moved to a shady spot to finish their lunch.

--  
By the time Ike dropped him off, his feet were aching and he had a sunburn on his face. Soren was fairly sure that there were several blisters forming, and just waiting for tomorrow to make moving intolerable, and that this was the sort of sunburn that would peel, and be excruciating, instead of the sort that only gave him a little color and then faded away.

"You should put some aloe on that," Ike said. Soren cringed, and drew away, thinking that Ike would touch the burn, touch ihim/I, but Ike only brushed over the air around his skin, as if tracing lines over him.

For a long moment, they were turned towards each other in the fading day. Ike was studying him, his face close enough that it would only take a little effort for their lips to meet.

Soren drew away. "Goodnight."

"Night. See you tomorrow."

Soren nodded, terse, and left before he gave in to the moment, The Flutter and kissed Ike himself.

**.**

No one liked archive duty, but it seemed that Soren was always the one saddled with it. This was no surprise as being that Mia and Heather were his coworkers, Soren was saddled with everything. Especially when one of them decided to chase after anything in a skirt, or their 'destined rival' in the middle of work hours. This is what one got for putting Gatrie in charge of hiring. And did anyone up there listen to his complaints? No, they said he should relax, and that he was a hard worker, and that maybe he should get laid once in a while. And that was when he wasn't insulting him or being flat out drunk. That was what one got for putting _Shinon_ in charge of such matters.

So Soren just resolved he'd do it himself. The archives were in a dank basement at the bottom of rickety stairs. The lighting down there was decades out of date, but at least the archives themselves had been sealed as to not get moldy.

Soren took careful steps down the stairs. The books to be archived were against his chest, all the way up to his chin. It was a tricky balance, for the light barely showed in these murky depths.

The light flicked. Soren looked up to it, wary. He'd told them to fix the lighting down here. Of course, there was no flashlight to be had. Then again, he couldn't carry and the books even if he'd had one. He wavered for a moment before finally choosing to go on. It would be impossible to turn around with a load like this. Besides, walking backwards would be worse than even going on. He took another careful step down, and then several more. .

Books scattered everywhere. The door above was closed. One thing he'd always had to do was prop the door open, as it tended to stick, and be very hard, if not impossible to open from this angle.

It was cold, and dark. Soren looked through the basement, only finding more darkness. Beyond reason, beyond the rational of a grown man, were the fears of a child pulled out anew to haunt him. He'd been in basements before, days without seeing any light. He'd never cried out on those days, even when the terror had lodged so tight that his throat felt compressed. The musty smell, the dark itself seemed to press against him so hard that Soren felt like he was being crushed. He curled into a fetal position.

His breaths came quick, as if they were being ripped from him. He was holding himself so hard that the backs of his arms ached from the pressure he couldn't bring himself to lessen.

A triangle of light cut through the oppressive coal black air.

"Soren? I thought I heard a noise. Are you down here?"

"Yes...."

"Are you hurt?"

"I...I don't know," Soren replied.

"How can you not know?" Ike said.

Soren didn't respond. The floor was cold against his face. His throat felt hoarse, and every word before had come out raspy. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. No use in having Ike see him like this.

"I'm coming down."

"Be careful of the stairs. They're narrow and rickety. The light went out and I stumbled."

He heard Ike on the stairs, and then in a short span of time (Soren could not count how long in the darkness), he was kneeling down beside him.

"The books..." Soren said.

"Isn't that like you to worry about books before yourself," Ike remarked wryly.

"They'd get moldy," Soren said, his tone turning cross. "They might be already damaged as it is."

"You're more important than books. Really, though. You should have asked me. I'd have carried them down for you."

Soren shook his head. "You were busy. It isn't your job."

"Has that ever stopped me before? I'm never too busy to help you. You should know that already."

Soren didn't reply. He took a breath and pushed himself up from the floor. His cheek was dirty with grime from the fall. There were a few scrapes on his hands and arms.

"You're afraid of the dark?" Ike asked.

"I'm a grown man, I'm not afraid of the dark," he snapped.

"You're awful tense..."

"I'm not afraid of the dark!"

"If you say so," Ike said. "Is anything broken?"

"I think my ankle is twisted or sprained. It's hard to tell."

Ike squeezed his calf, and then knee to test his ankle. Soren flinched

"For your information, if I'd really broken it, that'd have made it worse," Soren said between gritted teeth. The pain subsided, and he let out a breath.

"And that's why I never became a doctor," Ike said.

"And here I thought it was the twelve years of schooling," Soren said.

"That too." Ike pulled him up, his arm about him. He worked as a living, breathing crutch.

"It's too narrow. We won't fit walking up like this."

"Then I'll carry you."

"That's too much, I—"

"You want Heather to carry you up?"

"She wouldn't unless you paid her," Soren said.

"I lifted you up before. What's the big deal?"

_You don't have to be afraid of the dark. If anything scary comes out, I'll protect you._

"...Fine. Be careful, the ceiling is low."

"I'll remember to be careful," Ike said wryly.

_I'll walk you home. Don't worry, I've got your hand. Be careful of that step, though. It's loose. I don't want you to trip like last time._

The tension gradually released from his muscles as Ike carried him up. Slowly, he was able to breathe again without the sharp edges, like rusted metal embedded in his chest.

_Are you ok? Just hold on, mom will make it all better. She's good at that stuff. She's a nurse, you know._

Ike took him back up into the light. He set him down on one of the couches, heedless of how it would dirty things.

"I'm going to get you some ice."

"I'll be alright," Soren said. "It wasn't a serious fall."

"Why not take the rest of the day off? It's not like the whole library is going to collapse around you."

"Isn't it?" Soren said. He looked over to where Heather was leaning over the desk, fixing a predatory gaze on a female. Mia was nowhere in sight, no surprise as Wrestlemania was on.

"...Ok, you've got a point," Ike said.

"Regardless, I think I'll rest a while."

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Ike said.

Soren flexed his fingers. Ike's bulk, the sheer strength and weight of him was a comfort. Soren felt weary from the stress. He wanted to just lay his head down and fall asleep.

_You can't sleep? Do you want me to stay?_

"...I'll be fine. Continue on with your work," Soren replied.

"You sure?" Ike said.

"Yes, go on."

Ike left with seeming reluctance. Soren rubbed at his temples where a tension headache was forming. Five minutes, five minutes was all he'd allow himself before he got back to work.

And yet that youthful voice kept ringing in his ears. _ Are you sure you don't want me to stay?_

**.**

When he got home, on pure reflex, Soren checked his answering machine. He detested cell phones, and refused to upgrade, despite Ranulf's mockery. In truth, he only kept it around in the case that his history professor (who was a living relic himself, and too old fashioned for this newfangled _email_) had to contact him.

He needed to finish the last draft on that paper too. Bring on the painkillers. His attention was caught by not his professor's voice, but another, more intriguing one.

_Ranulf gave me this number, so here's hoping I didn't write it down wrong. So uh...hey. I'm just checking on you, to make sure everything's fine and reminding you about next weekend. Wait, I mentioned that last time, didn't I? I'm not to good with these message things, so just give me a call Alright? Later_.

Ike still hadn't gotten his coat. He walked up to the beat up jacket and pressed it to his face. He took a breath and smelled sweat and dirt and sawdust and Ike. It was a promise that he'd have to see Ike again, even with the days passing. Soren tried to convince himself that he wouldn't be counting down the days until then. The Flutter told him otherwise.


	5. Tell Me Facts

Title: This Modern Love [5/6]  
Day/Theme: 9. 10. I loved him more for his weakness  
Series: FE 9/10 AU  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Modern AU. Past meets present as Soren finds out the finer aspects of enforced blind dates and carpentry by-proxy. Surely, his life isn't going to be the same. Eventual Ike/Soren  
Author's note: SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER. I split it into two parts, last chapter and epilogue to make it more easily readable. Hope everyone has enjoyed the ride~ Sorry for the wait - stuff came up, yadayada.

V. Tell Me Facts

There were no serious repercussions to the fall, other than some nasty bruises. However, there was one looming threat that came day by day: Ike's imminent departure. Already the bookshelves and repairs had been, new ones sanded and fished and now they stood proud and tall. Ike had even done some parts not to his contract, such as oiling a few squeaky doors, carrying books after the last disaster with the stairs, and fixing the bathroom door, which had a distressing habit of sticking, so that every so often, Mia would have to save the poor, trapped person.

"Well, that's the last one," Ike said. He wiped his forehead, the tied cloth around his forehead having long been surrendered to the wash. Soren ran his fingers over the wood, as if he were truly fascinated by them, and not just trying to feel Ike's touch by proxy and feel what he had felt. They were well made shelves, sturdy constructions that would surely last years, of course. Somehow he wished they were a little more poorly made, so much that Ike might have to come fix them again every week or so.

Of course, this was foolishness and he pushed it aside in his mind, mentally cursing the stupid Flutter which made him think of such wasteful ideas. He stared ahead, and willed himself not to take the side glances he so wished to.

"Good. The work is very satisfactory. I'll see to it that your check is sent as soon as possible," Soren said, his gaze not leaving the shelves. Soren stood there, an awkward moment. He wanted to say something else, but the words escaped him. Something felt too final about this, about waking up every day and realizing that he wouldn't catch sight of Ike or eat lunch with him or come 'simply to see his progress' which was in no way 'checking him out' as Mia accused.

Despite the inner struggle, he realized that between the desire to be near and the desire to run away, the urge to be close was winning over.

"I... have things to do," Soren said finally.

"Mmhmm. See you later," Ike said absently. His thoughts were already elsewhere. Other jobs he had to do, and everything else in his life which Soren wasn't a part of.

Maybe even other people.

Soren worked through a monotonous numbness through the day. He kept looking up when people would pass by, only to realize that he wouldn't catch a glimpse of blue hair, and rolled up sleeves, or muddy boots which meant he'd have to vacuum that night twice as much, even if it wasn't his job.

The week that passed was slow and tedious. Each day dragged on, the time seemed lengthened by the lack of any contact. Soren was sullen, and snapped at his coworkers even more than usual. Ike hadn't called. Soren had long given in to the inevitability of the existence of The Flutter, and was now focusing his irritation on other things – namely, the idiotic things it was making him do. Especially flagrant was his sullen, desperate stalking of his phone. He was becoming a cliche of the clingy woman, and it was not pleasing. Heather and Mia's jokes that he'd gotten jilted certainly weren't helping.

Apparently, according to Ranulf, Mia and Heather's advice he was to 'go out' and 'date other people' and 'make him jealous.' Soren despised that they'd even assumed they were 'a couple' even if they actually might have gone on a date (or three, possibly, depending on definition.)

But these suggestions were tossed aside without even a thought. Other people didn't interest him. Ike was the only person who had awakened such...things inside him, the only person he'd ever given a damn about.

What would he do if Ike simply disappeared, if all this had meant nothing to him?

Go back to his fallow state, the cold cynicism. Already it was creeping in. He was a constant battle of differing views, a mess being torn in two.

As for why he couldn't simply call himself? The truth was he'd tried. He'd lifted the phone, told himself he would calmly talk to him like a sensible adult, but muttered a _wrong number_ when he heard a cheerful girl respond and promptly spent the rest of the day brooding.

It wasn't until just the day before the scheduled meet that Ike called him back. He mentioned a person he wanted Soren to meet, and Soren's chest felt tight at the possibility of the girl who might be _his girl._

And that was something Soren just didn't know how to deal with.

**.**

Soren waited at the corner. Instead of meeting him at his house, Soren agreed to meet him halfway at the corner near the library because he had some banking issues to deal with, and he needed to deal with the headache of financial aid yet again. He was more than a little discontented by the time Ike came up, having not slept well for the week, and of course, financial aid wasn't the most relaxing thing to deal with. There was a woman beside Ike. A cheerful girl with short brown hair. She seemed entirely too young for him, and certainly too small for him. (Of course, she was only an inch shorter than Soren himself, but it was the _principle_ of the matter.)

The door swung open.

"Jump in, Soren!" Said the girl.

"This is my sister, Mist," Ike said.

"I didn't notice the resemblance," Soren said, not quite able to keep the edge out of his voice.

"I follow more after mom's side," Ike said.

"I see," Soren muttered.

"Hi, Soren, nice to finally meet you!" She smiled. Soren managed not to grimace. Actually smiling back was beyond him, however.

"Ike has said so much about you. Well, for him at least, between guttural grunting and rib-snarfing."

"Not my fault you always come when the game is on," Ike said.

Mist playfully punched his arm, apparently not that hard. "You and your _sports games!_ I bet you'd _marry_ them if you could," Mist said.

"Maybe," Ike said.

"Oh wow, the touchdown dances of love," Mist said. "It'd be a match made in heaven."

Soren looked up sharply. He objected to that, in the most silent and sullen way possible.

"Actually, you sound sort of like the weird mumbly hangup caller we got the other day," Mist said.

"A coincidence," Soren said, keeping his gaze on the road ahead. He now recognized her voice as the girl he had talked to that day. Ike wasn't taking him to meet his girlfriend, he was taking him to _meet his family._

Soren wasn't sure if that made it better – either option made his chest tighten up until he felt like he could barely breathe.

"You know, you really look like him," Mist said conversationally.

"..What?"

"Ike's friend, when he was little."

"You were way too young to remember that," Ike said. "I was only five at the time, and you were even younger."

"That's not true!" Mist protested. "I can remember! Just because I was young doesn't mean I can't remember. You went on all summer about going back for that boy, but after the car accident and mom... you just stopped."

"I don't remember it at all," Ike said.

"You lost a lot of memories after the car accident. You didn't even recognize Titania the second time you met her," Mist said "Anyways, dad told me about it, so even if I don't remember _everything_ I'd know what I was talking about!" Mist said.

"...friend?" Soren said, a tremor in his voice.

"There was this kid who Ike used to play with that lived next door. He was always holding onto the back of Ike's shirt and he was always protecting him from stuff. Dogs – he was really afraid of them, and bullies, that kind of thing. I think mom snapped a picture once, it might be in the boxes up there."

_Aren't you going to go back home? You can come home with me if you want. Mother won't mind, I'm sure of it._

Soren's mouth felt suddenly dry. He remembered the feeling that had overtaken him when Ike had helped him up, the sheer familiarity of it all. He felt like trembling, like running away. His hand rested against the door. A simple flip and he'd be out at the first stop. An emergency. He could make up an emergency.

His first friend. The only person who had ever shown him any love. The little boy next door. What were the chances he'd ever meet that boy again? What were the chances that a final piece of that long sought puzzle would ever be found?

_I have finally found you._

His body had known before he had. Muscles had memory, didn't they? What an illogical occurrence, but it was undeniable.

"Is something wrong, Soren? You just got quiet."

"No," Soren said mechanically. Memories of the past were swirling around inside him, he fought for composure.

He'd wait until he got to their residence, excuse himself to the restroom and fake a call of some import.

The rest of the ride was quiet, as Mist turned on the radio, and some girl sang about tears falling to her guitar. She was between them in a child's seat, kicking up her legs in time to the radio. It made her frilly yellow knee length skirt ride up, but she didn't seem to mind such things.

Soren barely dared to look back to Ike, unsure what to think of this. He just kept looking at the road, the yellow lines blurring. It wasn't a long drive to their apartment, though. Soon enough they were at the drive with its yellowed grass and cracked drive. Ike's pickup looked at home with the rest of the cars in varying amounts of rustiness. Some of them seemed more rust than car.

Ike's apartment was about what one would expect, with some occasional touches of femininity which had obviously been Mist's doing. There were strange touches indeed: a contrast of a hooked, colorful rug and a very ugly beat up couch; stained wooden crates which posed as furniture, and a welcome mat with daisies on it.

"Pardon me, I need to wash my hands," Soren murmured and headed down the hall. The bathroom was mostly white, slightly yellowed with age and rust. Like the other room, there were minor touches of Mist's influence, such as a purple box of Kleenex with flowers on it. He leaned into the sink and splashed cold water on his face, his mind going to earlier times. It veered – one moment a child sharing sandwiches, the next a similar moment in the restroom of the restaurant on their first...encounter.

All these years he'd been holding himself up. He'd been chasing a dream, almost not believing he'd ever Ifind/I the sum of that dream, even as he searched, and yet...

Soren wrapped his arms about himself. He didn't cry, and hadn't since he was a child – Ian infant/I but the emotions, the feelings he'd been numbing himself to for the past years were washing over him.

It caught in his chest. He could barely breathe. All he wanted was a moment to curl in a corner and be again that fragile, yet strong boy who had survived at the cost of his heart. He'd had a hint of warmth, once. A hand to guide him, a hint of happiness. Despite every time of telling himself that he could do without, that he could live alone, in his own walls, he knew that all he wanted was that boy again.

He counted down the moments which he could stay and not have the awkwardness increase tenfold.

He wasn't ready for this. The only possibility was to retreat and regroup for the moment...at least until he could deal with these new revelations.

He stepped out and looked to Ike – _his_ Ike along, just as a niggling feeling had suggested so many times.

"There was a call...I'm afraid I must excuse myself," Soren said. His voice lacked the commanding, cold tone he usually used towards patrons with late fees, or noisome types. He looked up, tired at Ike, wondering if he'd read him, know him like he had as a child.

Every time Soren was sad, Ike comforted him. If he'd been able to cry then, Ike would've wiped his tears, told him to be strong, to not worry.

Would he now?

Mist came in from the kitchen. "What? You're leaving? Aww, but you just got here! I had a great meal planned, and the rest of the family was going to come, too!"

"You're better off without her cooking, honestly," Ike said.

"I heard that!"

Soren almost smiled at their exchange. The bonds of a family. A close one, not with long cold tables and long sharp fingernails. Not with the subtle manipulative guilting, the expectations.

"Another time," Soren said. "Things...things that must be attended to. I'm sorry."

Soren ducked his head and walked towards the door.

"I can drive you–"

"No, it's fine," Soren said. "I'll...be fine. Don't worry."

He left before Ike could protest more, feeling a heaviness, a sadness weighing him down as he walked down the hall. A part of him hoped to hear Ike calling out to him, but he did not. Instead of going straight home, he walked down the streets. Unaware of the growing cold, the darkening sky, he went on. As if he were the automaton he had forced himself to become all these years, and not the living, breathing Ifeeling/I creature which was bursting forth from the metal shell, as if shedding a cocoon.

It was a lengthy process, and felt as if rusty metal was scraping against his nerves. He barely felt the coming cold, numbing his skin as he walked on into the growing twilight.

**.**

When he finally returned, the chill became apparent. He brewed some tea for himself, and rubbed at his arms to try and warm himself. This time it would be Chamomile for the nerves, not the usual unadorned Green tea he drank cup by cup when he needed to write a paper. He took out vitamins and herbal supplements, and downed them and waited for the calming effect. Magnesium, Vitamin B, Valerian. He wasn't one for Valium because that would require going to a therapist and he didn't need to pay a stranger four-hundred dollars an hour to tell him to take a few pills and then come again to bleed more from his wallet.

He didn't need anyone to tell him he was a fuckup; he already knew this much already.

Soren thought of pulling a large blanket and curling up in it.

He'd gotten a family, eventually. A weak, spineless brother and a mother whose hold on sanity was fragile at best, and the knowledge that his father had found him so repulsive as to abandon him with a woman who despised him. Little comfort, that.

He'd been a coward to run, of course. He'd face Ike later, when he was more composed. If he had stayed, he might have broken down, which would be unacceptable. He sipped his tea and willed the pills to work faster, as if he could make anything happen simply by willing it.

(Could he? He had willed and wished for Ike for so very long. To have him appear after he'd all but given up.)

There was a knock at the door. Soren shifted his glance, and considered simply ignoring it. He had been stretched too thin this week, and was too tired to deal with Ranulf or Skrimir's inanities. The knocking continued.

"Soren? I know you've got to be in there," Ike said gently. And yet, there was an edge to his voice. Worry? Perhaps.

"I could be someone else," Soren said quietly, defeating the purpose.

"I can't picture you clubbing," Ike quipped.

"And if I wasn't here, what would you do?" Soren asked.

"Stay on your doorstep until you return," Ike said. "Maybe call some more, even though you haven't picked up."

Soren rested his hand against the door. "...Even if I took a long time to return?"

"As long as it took," Ike replied.

Soren stood there a while, his head against the door. Finally, with shaking hands he undid the locks – every chain and opened the door.

"You just left all of the sudden, I was worried," Ike said.

The concern on his face made the thrumming intensify inside him.

"I'm sorry...I was feeling unwell and couldn't continue," Soren said. He mentally cursed himself as he did. His excuse had been different, and placed together they looked like the lie they were.

Soren stared at the face which had aged in all these years. The past and present had met and meshed together into one moment in time. Theirs. Ike didn't have to know. Finding him was enough. Keeping ahold of him for the rest of their lives would be enough. Maybe some part deep in Ike had remembered, which is why he'd made the effort, and reached his hand out to him again.

"I've finally found you..."

"I didn't know I was lost," Ike said. "Didn't I just see you yesterday?"

Soren drew back, hurt. He bit his lip. He was too tired for sharp comments.

"Soren, relax, I'm teasing. It was you, wasn't it?" Ike said gently. "Mist and I searched the whole attic and finally found this."

Out from his pocket he brought out a small photograph. Its corners were curled with age, and it had yellowed. And yet, it was still so clear. A thin boy with red, wary eyes and charcoal black hair clinging to a young, rough boy with blue hair. His tiny fists were balled up, holding tight to Ike's shirt in that picture. He'd even ripped a few shirts trying to keep a hold of Ike whenever Ike would go on.

Unable to speak, Soren just nodded.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner," Ike said.

"I didn't know from the beginning either," Soren said.

"I always did feel a bit connected to you," Ike said.

"Yes...I as well..." Soren looked down.

"I've never really had a connection like this with anyone. Ranulf kept setting me up and I never was interested. At least until you," Ike said.

"Ike, I..." Soren shook his head, the words unable to come out.

"Hey...come here," Ike said. "You're shivering."

"It's just the cold," Soren said. "I don't tolerate cold well."

"Is that really all?" Ike asked.

"No...I'm a wreck," Soren said. "It's nothing new."

"You've always looked pretty strong to me. Well, not _physically..._"

Soren looked to him, trying to read him. Wondering if Ike could really see him anymore, like he used to. Time had passed, they'd grown to different people.

"I survived," he murmured.

"That's the point," Ike said. "But everyone needs to crash once in a while. We can't be pillars."

Soren didn't respond. A sigh. In a second, Soren felt strong arms about him. He froze, muscles tight from the instantaneous reflex of touch aversion. And yet he felt himself relaxing, almost as instinctual as the tensing. He rested his head against Ike's chest.

"It's going to be all right, Soren."

His hands smoothed Soren's hair, gentle strokes which had a calming effect. When Soren looked up to him, it was with the desperate, pleading eyes of a child. He clung to Ike's shirt.

"Don't leave."

"I'm not–"

Soren leaned up and pulled hard on Ike's shoulders, Ike followed the unsaid command and Soren gripped his chin and pulled their mouths together. And they touched and kissed and Soren felt the wall against his back and the welcome feel of Ike's weight pressing him down. He didn't have to say it. He didn't have to say a word.

_I have been searching my whole life for you. You were its meaning, the balance and joy. You are mine._

When the kiss ended, they rested, forehead to forehead, a soft nuzzle.

"I...wanted this for a long time," Soren said.

"Mm. Me too. I'll stay tonight if you want," Ike said.

"Please stay," Soren said.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I mean..in the future..."

_Don't leave...please._

Ike smiled. "Like I said, I'm not going anywhere."

_I'll be back tomorrow, I promise!_

"A moment, please," Soren said. He went to his room and came back with two blankets, the large dark wool blanket with bands of red and the thinner one underneath to keep the scratchy wool from his skin.

The heat wasn't very good in his apartment, but the price made him keep it regardless. One could always layer on blankets or clothing if need be. Or space heaters could be purchased – though he had lacked the funds for that quite yet. Ike was on the couch, and Soren brought the blankets out. He sat by Ike, a slight distance between them and wrapped them both up in the blanket.

"You're staying out here?"

"Yes," Soren said.

They were wrapped up tight together in the blanket, and Soren felt warmth flood through him, not just his skin but his insides. He'd been cold for so very long, it felt a strange glow, a melting.

Ike stroked his cheek, and they slowly shifted positions, until Soren was laying on the couch, with Ike leaning over him. This kiss was less desperate, more exploratory. His lips parted just enough for their tongues to brush against each other. The sensations were new, a gentle floating as opposed to the crashing shocks on nerves that the first was.

"Mmm...You taste like ribs, and you're heavy," Soren said. Ike grunted, and pushed himself off until he was kneeling beside him on the floor.

"This couch is really small," Ike said.

"It was a good deal, and I don't exactly need a lot for company."

"Do you have anything bigger?" Ike asked.

"...my bed is marginally so," Soren responded.

They looked at each other, saying nothing for a moment. Finally Ike broke the silence.

"We don't have to go any farther than you want."

Soren wanted to properly research this...new aspect to his life. However to kiss, to touch, that wouldn't require certain implements, or preparation. He wanted to feel Ike, fingertips over every bit of skin, inhaling the scent of him with every breath.

"I don't know anything about love...physical or emotional," Soren confessed.

"Then we'll learn together," Ike said. "I'm not exactly that experienced myself."

They wrapped the blanket around them, and Soren was reminded for some reason of bridal trains, of wedding rituals in other cultures he had unearthed in his studies and filed away with dour indifference.

But this time, he considered the romanticism without simply dismissing it and pushing it aside as foolishness. He felt Ike's hand in his as he walked towards the short hallway to his room, which for some reason, felt much farther now, or perhaps it was just their unhurried walk. Soren leaned against Ike as they walked.

_If I'm a fool, then so be it,_ he thought. At least he'd be a happy fool.


	6. Throw Your Arms Around Me Epilogue

Title: This Modern Love [6/6] (epilogue)  
Day/Theme: 9. 22 . take a bow  
Series: FE 9/10 AU  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Modern AU. Past meets present as Soren finds out the finer aspects of enforced blind dates and carpentry by-proxy. Surely, his life isn't going to be the same. Eventual Ike/Soren  
Author's note: Long trip, eh? But there's more of this verse, and in fact I'm posting another modern AU (and going to update Frost Fair sometime...really.) So see you then? Here's hoping!

VI. Throw Your Arms Around Me.

Skrimir had been in a funk ever since the news came out. And that just wasn't cool. Actually, everything Skrimir had done to win Soren hadn't been cool, so this was just the final cherry to the top of the failcake.

"He loves someone else," Skrimir moaned.

"Yeah, yeah, funny thing– I'm not sure how that happened," Ranulf said. He might as well have whistled innocently and crossed his fingers behind his back – not that Skrimir would've noticed.

"Someone else," Skrimir said again as he took another spoonful of Ben and Jerry's. He had a stackful of DVDs, which meant the horror had started – he was going on a Meg Ryan Romantic Comedy binge.

Ranulf plucked the delicious, yet extremely fattening icecream from him. Or at least, he tried. A tug-of-war match ensued, and Ranulf only worked by shouting _look over there, a cranky librarian!_ which Skrimir always fell for. Ranulf helped him out by finishing it off. It was just that sort of kindness that he specialized in.

"You've got to get out of this slump, man. How about this, we could go out clubbing, though you'd have to actually change out of that shirt and..."

Skrimir looked up. He was beyond miserable.

"Fine then.. Plan B: uhhh, we distract you. We could take a jazzercize class or kickboxing."

Skrimir groaned and sunk into the couch. The couch had taken more than a few beatings. There was, in fact, mysterious clawmarks over the armrests that Ranulf remembered the genesis of. What could he say? Skrimir really took The Gallian Tigers losing personally.

"You've got to get out of this! You're a pretty cool guy, eh. Pretty handsome and doesn't take shit from anyone. Why are you letting some cranky librarian get you down? There's plenty more fish in the sea!"

"His tactics. The way he shelved books...his frown..."

"No – _no_. We are not doing this. This is lame, and you are not lame. Generally," Ranulf said. He took Skrimir by the shoulders. "Now as your assistant-slash-secretary-slash-whatever, I say you need to get out. And I am going to do whatever I can to work with this."

Skrimir groaned. "Not interested in nightlife."

"I'm saying you should date me already," Ranulf said.

Skrimir frowned. "You work for me."

"I've dated people I worked with before. There was that time with Lethe! ...and then she realized she was a lesbian. Well think of it this way, there's no physical way I could turn you into a lesbian."

"You are rather little..." Skrimir said, wavering thoughtfully.

"Maybe compared to you. Besides, dontcha like them little? Soren isn't exactly going to win buff, manly man of the year award."

"You're sure you won't regret this?" Skrimir queried.

"I regret a lot of things. Most of which are related to you. Might as well put them together for ease."

**.**

The condemning of Ike's building might have only been a surprise to Ike himself. The building looked worse than the cars parked in front of it, and that was saying something.

"Ranulf offered me a spot," Ike said.

"You're moving in with me," Soren said darkly.

"That fast already? What, have you dated like a week?"

"Eight weeks. Besides, being with you would be a bad influence," Soren said.

"What about Ike, does he get any say in this at all?" Ranulf said.

"Sorry, Ranulf. I think boyfriend trumps best friend in this respect," Ike said.

"Aw, man. But think of the beer bong parties we could have," Ranulf said.

"That's precisely why I'm insisting that he move in with me and not you," Soren replied coldly.

"Seriously, bros before hoes."

Soren glared.

"It'd be quieter," Ike said. "And he won't drink my beer and eat my ribs."

"That was just one time! I had the munchies. You _know_ how catnip makes me," Ranulf protested.

"Do you really think it'd be a good idea to have Skrimir and Soren in close contact that much of the time?" Ike said, showing rare insight.

"He might relapse to his earlier condition," Soren said. He didn't wait for Ranulf's response, but went to the kitchen, as his kettle was shrilly whistling.

"Go enjoy your honeymoon, you crazy kids. I'll drop in for beer and chips, of course," Ranulf said.

"I think we'll have to move the football parties to somewhere else. Tibarn's house, maybe?" Ike said.

"Dude, you are _so whipped,_" Ranulf said. "What, does he pull the the no-nookie ultimatum?"

"The what?" Ike said.

"You know, the 'no sex ever unless you do what I say' shit?"

"Er, what?" Ike said.

"Wait, what. You mean he never...?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Ike said.

"So that's why he's irresistible to you," Ranulf said. He gave Soren a loopy grin and thumbs up when he returned with tea.

"I'd suggest that Reyson and Soren have tea together, but I'm not sure the world would survive," Ranulf said. "It'd explode in a bomb of bitchiness."

"I think they'd get along," Ike said.

"That's the _point,_" Ranulf said.

**.**

Soren's apartment was too small. Everything about it, from the stooped doors to the sheer fact that Soren's room was too small to put in a queen, or king sized bed. The couch was too small, and thus slated for some Salvation Army place, since Soren hated wasting anything which could still be used.

Ranulf and Boyd had helped with the boxes, while Ike and Tibarn did the actual moving. Soren brought very little except the necessities, and of course, his books and the large bookshelves which covered almost every wall. Ike didn't bring much more. His apartment always had that college bachelor look, with orange crates stained with the preternatural colored cheeto dust and spots from where beer cans had toppled over during especially vigorous victory dances and chest bumping during touchdowns.

The apartment was scuffed up, more so than Soren would have liked, but the rent was cheap, and such things could be fixed. There were no rodent or cockroach infestations that Soren had seen any evidence, and no leaks he had found as of yet. In their first night there, they had the unfortunate discovery that their neighbors were insufferably loud, especially when it came to acts of love, but that was what happened with apartments. (Ranulf had suggested to simply outdo the noise. This had prompted Ike to tell more about their noise, or lack thereof than Soren really deemed necessary.)

It was adequate.

As it was, only a bit of their things were unpacked, and the place was littered with boxes, mostly containing books. The necessities were unpacked, the phone installed (though Soren insisted he could do without drunken calls from some of Ike's friends). The heat here was better than Soren's, though staying close to Ike may have had a factor in changing that.

Soren had no papers due, and Ranulf had been too busy partying with Skrimir to spend much time with Ike (other than drunken calls consisting of a lot of "wooooo!"). Tonight was simply theirs, as a quiet night spent in.

Ike waved as he came in with a bag of take-out and something black and square under his arm.

"I got some food and a movie for tonight," Ike said.

"Thank you," Soren said. He leaned up on tiptoe for a kiss – they were still a bit awkward on these _coupley things_ but it was sweet, and most of all, he could taste if there was waxy traces of lipstick.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Ike – he did – but he didn't trust anyone else not to try anything, because certainly they had. Heather was about the only woman who hadn't made a pass at Ike when they were out, which didn't help his innate paranoia. There were no traces of lipstick, though a slight trace of perfume. To be fair, women tended to cling to him when he was working in the hardware store.

He looked up to Ike. "Perfume?" He said tersely.

"New divorcee who wanted to cry on my shoulder. She had that stuff sprayed on so thick I was gagging, no wonder the guy ran away with 'commitment issues'. I'd run away too if I couldn't breathe around her. Oh and she groped my ass, too."

"_Bitch,_" Soren muttered.

"I told her I was taken, like I always do," Ike said with a half-smile.

"Good," Soren said. He let it rest, otherwise he'd be in a bad mood all night over the overly forward, overly perfumed divorcee who'd managed to cop a feel of his man. Instead he took the movie out from Ike's arm.

_"The Princess Bride?"_ He read aloud with mild surprise.

Soren expected _Die Hard 2_ or some other testosterone filled movie involving cars exploding, but he was surprised to find some sort of a medieval fantasy, possibly a tongue-in-cheek one.

"Did Mist pick it out?"

"Nope, she's out visiting an old friend in Daein. Besides, everyone loves _The Princess Bride_."

"If you say so," Soren said.

The strange quote which he later to be found from an archaic role playing game, the Aruthurian mentions...the trip to the Renn Faire. if he didn't know better, he'd think that Ike had a particular hobby involving medieval times – to near geekish extents.

Not that Soren minded.

"You're not going to like Buttercup, though. I bet you'll spend the whole time raging about how she didn't make some brilliant plan to rid herself of the trouble and save the guy in the end."

Soren raised one eyebrow. "Are you implying that I identify with her as I would the damsel in distress in this situation?"

"Well, if you were you would've made some plan and gotten out long before I came to rescue you. In fact, you'd probably be sitting there, tapping your feet and going 'You're late' after I beat the final boss."

"Perhaps," Soren said. He turned away, slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You're smiling," Ike said.

"I am not," Soren protested. He broke into a poorly concealed cough behind his hand.

"Even better, you're _laughing_. I knew you had it in you."

"I'm _not,_" Soren protested.

"Yes you are. I saw you."

Ike pulled Soren's hand away. "See? Smile."

"Fine, you caught me. It won't happen again."

"Hmm. Not happening again, huh? I'll have to work on that," Ike said.

He leaned down for a kiss which Soren eagerly returned. When the kiss ended, it turned into another breathy kiss as if they'd been away for months and simply a day. They smiled and looked to each other a few seconds before Ike found his way to the takeout package.

"I was waiting for you to eat," Ike said. "It was a bit hard to, though."

"You shouldn't have waited," Soren murmured as he opened up the square little package of Goldoan rice and vegetables, with chicken and probably copious amounts of sodium and monosodium glutamate. Takeout never really captured the feel of true Goldoan food, but then, with their isolationism, it was hard to get anything but pale imitators.

Soren, being half Goldoan had tasted it at its finest, deemed it 'tolerable' and said as much.

He thought maybe he'd get recipes from his mother. Of course, she was too aristocratic to ever set food in a kitchen, but it'd give him something to discuss other than what a horrible son he was for not calling fifteen times a day like Pelleas.

He could cook passably, as it was a simple issue of following directions and having the correct ingredients. He'd surprise Ike with a real meal one of these days. He thought about filing away rib recipes as well. But only when he wasn't knee-deep in papers to be written, of course.

"You know, I don't really like going out, maybe a bit of sports with the guys but I was never into clubbing. Ranulf had to drag me when I went, and it really wasn't my scene," Ike said. He had a piece of rice at his cheek and Soren absently leaned in to brush it away and ate it himself.

"Me either," Soren said.

Of course Soren's idea of an enjoyable evening involved Le Morte D'Arthur with a side of Tennyson and Milton while Ike's involved Monday Night Football. But there were always compromises, always things that intersected. Ike liked being read to. It was something his mother had done in the old days, when she wasn't making up the stories herself. When she was still alive.

Ike set aside his container and patted his stomach in contentment. The rapidness in which the food was gone was no surprise as Ike was a fast eater when he was only slightly hungry, and when he was extremely so, well...the food seemed to disappear of its own accord in the space of two blinks.

"What did you have planned today?" Ike asked.

"Reading. Le Morte D'Arthur I thought you were working late."

"Oh, you mean Arthurian tales? My dad used to love him. Something about being named for them or other."

"My brother is named after a pathetic knight who was used by a woman and then discarded. A poor choice for he seems to reflect his character," Soren said.

"Ah, I remember that one. Kinda, at least, it's been a while."

"Pelleas and Ettarde," Soren said. Incidentally, Ettarde sounded like the kind of girl his brother would pine hopelessly for.

"Sure, there's nothing on anyways. We don't have to take the DVD back until Wednesday."

"It won't take too long to read a section. Then we'll watch it."

Somehow through it all, there was a compromise to be found. Ike nuzzled against his neck, his hands resting against Soren's shoulders.

"I thought you were going to listen to me read?"

"I can multitask," Ike said.

Soren doubted that, but there would always be later to finish the chapter. There was no hurry.

_~fin_


End file.
